


lettin' it burn off from the rush

by bananamission



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Food, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:41:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23431084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bananamission/pseuds/bananamission
Summary: When Leon has a panic attack on the job, Chris makes sure to be there for him.
Relationships: Leon S. Kennedy/Chris Redfield, past!Leon S. Kennedy/Jack Krauser
Comments: 13
Kudos: 117





	lettin' it burn off from the rush

**Author's Note:**

> hi !! 
> 
> i hope everyone's doing well, that those of you who are currently self-isolating or under quarantine are taking care of yourselves, and staying in touch with your loved ones. my own country has been on lockdown for almost three weeks now.
> 
> to those who have read my previous fics or left a comment or a kudo, thank you so, so much. i never expected any of my writing to get so much love, and i feel humbled by all of you.
> 
> this little one came up to me a few days ago. i had finished playing resident evil 4, and i'd noticed that sometimes during the game, leon's hands would shake while aiming with a gun. being an absolute nightmare of a loving mother for this child, i immediately thought "this kid is scared out of his pants", so i had to write something where leon has anxiety. i know it is very similar to my previous fics but i hope you still like it! there's never enough love for our boys.
> 
> the title is from Lana Del Rey's song Cherry.
> 
> hope you guys enjoy!!

"Leon?"

Chris’ voice sounded close, too close, stifling. Leon shoved himself away from the origin of the voice, in reality stumbling into a damp wall. He was surrounded by the smells of rot, humidity, and wet stone. From himself, he perceived the odor of blood, both dry and still fresh in places, and of sweat. He tried speaking.

"‘m fine, Chris. Shhhh…"

The sound of his own voice felt overwhelming. Eyes wide open, frightened in the semi-darkness of the underground tunnel in which they were trying to make their way, he observed as Chris lifted a hand to his ear, brows furrowed. He was speaking, then cursing, voice louder. Leon winced and whined.

"This is Chris. Leon needs a break, I think that last encounter hit him hard." Silence, as Chris awaited an answer. "What do you mean, ‘compromised’?" White-hot anger twisted Chris’ mouth, creased his forehead. "This is bullshit, and you know it. I will _not_ abandon a partner under any circumstance." He threw a look at Leon, then back to the dark end of the tunnel. "This is still salvageable. We will rendezvous as planned, let me worry about the logistics. Chris out."

Leon thought it was funny, and cute, how Chris made a point to end every communication on the field with "Chris out". This big nerd. This big, big, large nerd. Leon chuckled, drawing Chris’ attention back on him.

"Hey man, you breathing? HQ was on my ass about being on schedule, but I bet they’re just mad we made such quick work of this mission and need to be extracted so early. Big Boss was probably still in bed." He sneered, approaching Leon slowly. He stopped, an arm’s length away from each other. 

Leon’s hands were gripping the rocky wall behind him, his back plastered to it for support. He felt steady on his feet, but knew that his first step away from the wall would be shaky. He felt his own disquiet in the whistling breaths going through his mouth, the rabbit-fast pace of his heart, and the pressure beneath his breastbone, the churning of his stomach —empty, and for how many hours still?—, the sweat suddenly gathering at his hairline and above his lip. Leon was acutely aware of every ache in his muscles and joints, the prickling pain of the cut on his cheek, and every reaction of his body. He had had training for this. He knew that panic attacks could occur at any point, and he knew how to recognize them. Yet he still chastised himself internally, _I need to gather myself_ and _not in front of Chris, please_.

"I’m…breathing, yeah," Leon wheezed, trying for a smile towards Chris. The latter positioned himself next to Leon and slid down until he was sitting, back against the wall. He wasn’t looking at Leon, which prompted the younger man to sit down as well, quicker than he might have liked. His breath left his lungs in an inelegant "oof" when he hit the floor unceremoniously. He let his legs splay out in front of him, his arms dangling at his side. He was too tense to let his head loll against the wall, instead holding it very still, staring straight at the wall in front of them. His palms felt sweaty.

"So, that’s your kryptonite then."

Chris’ voice startled Leon out of his whirling thoughts. "Huh?"

The older man turned his head slightly towards Leon, looking at him through his eyelashes. "Homoerotically charged fights against your former partner? Really?"

Leon’s head snapped towards Chris before he even finished the sentence, and he gaped.

"Why…how…but…" he stammered, feeling his cheeks heat up.

Chris’ laugh boomed against the walls of their refuge, ringing clearly and warmly.

"That is _not_ what happened!! I mean, he was my partner, yes, but I only saw him as such, and…" Leon couldn’t help but sputter.

"Relax, Leon, relax. I’m just messing with you." But he was still laughing, his shoulders shaking, making the knife strapped against his chest jingle against the buckles holding it in place.

Leon huffed. Chris maintained, "You guys must have been pretty close, though. I couldn’t keep up with the quips."

Leon tensed again. Chris was unknowingly skirting the edge of what Leon was willing to admit.

"We’d grown close during our mission, yeah. Or, that’s what I thought, anyways."

Chris hummed. "Wanna tell me about it? Your fallout with Krauser made the rounds at HQ for a solid week back then, but no one really had any details."

Leon let out a shaky exhale, heartbeat still drumming against his temples. Seeing Krauser after South America and in these conditions had been hard. Harder than Leon would have thought, considering. His admiration for the man back then, his nerve of steel and ability, coupled with his impressive physique, had quickly turned into the kind of interest to keep under wraps, especially around a man such as Krauser. Cold, cutting. Never showing more than one emotion at a time.

But Leon had proven himself able, and Krauser had grown somewhat soft for his partner. Compliments thrown here and there, looks that would linger for a beat too long when Leon would stretch his legs after a particularly intense chase. Which had made Krauser’s loss all the more painful, the needles of « what if »s stinging for weeks after. It had been a short mission, but as usual, an intense one, increasing the strength of emotions and making the sound of harsh breathing in dark forests and humid grass all the more ambiguous.

"We only worked together once, for a mission in South America. Ja- I mean, Krauser…everyone thought he hadn’t made it, but he had just staged his death. His arm was injured during the mission, and it was hard on him. I knew he felt powerless, and I…" Leon’s breathing shook again, audibly. "I failed to help him. I wasn’t there to hold him above the surface."

"Leon, stop with the self-flagellation. You didn’t push him towards Wesker, he went there on his own," Chris intervened.

Leon snorted. "I know that. I just feel like…if I hadn’t been so self-centered, so…keen on keeping secrets, maybe things would’ve played out differently."

Chris remained quiet, and Leon felt his eyes go damp.

"We were amazing together. Invincible, almost. I felt safe when he had my back, and I knew he’d never let anything happen to me. And I’d do the same for him, and he knew it." Leon smiled, this time more easily, but tearfully. "In many ways, you remind me a lot of him."

Chris smiled. "Hm. I hope it’s not the whole ‘betraying my country and values’ thing that reminds you of me. Might have to object there."

Leon chuckled. "No, of course not. I just…you being my partner… I mean, you heard Jack."—this time, Leon didn’t correct himself, and Chris didn’t say anything about the slip-up— "He kept saying that I had gotten soft."

"Yeah, he was egging you on." Chris felt like mentioning that Krauser had also kept saying "You’re mine" to the younger man through their whole fight would be useless.

"No, he was right. My hands were shaking so bad because I was so angry. I was so enraged that he was getting the upper hand because he took me by surprise. If you hadn’t been there, I don’t know if I would’ve managed."

"You would have," Chris asserted, almost aggressively. He was confident in his own skills, and just as confident in Leon’s. He trusted the man with his life.

Leon smiled. "Maybe. But I knew you were there to back me up, so I must have seemed soft to him," he sighed, breath steady this time.

"There’s nothing wrong with being able to rely on your partner during a mission, Leon. And being soft isn’t a weakness."

"In this job, it is," Leon interjected, almost angrily.

"You’re wrong," Chris spat out, surprising Leon into looking towards him. "We work to save people. To protect them against those capitalistic pigs trying to make profit out of illnesses and death. Having a heart is a strength."

Leon gaped, staring at Chris’ stormy eyes and downturned mouth. His chin was covered in a thin layer of stubble, and his brow looked damp from sweat. His hair was disheveled and caked in dirt. He looked beautifully dangerous.

All the fight left Leon at once, and he tipped his head down towards Chris’ shoulder. He landed face-first into it, nose almost wedged into the brunette’s armpit, forehead resting against his shoulder pad. He felt Chris stiffen underneath him, then almost immediately a large hand alighted against Leon’s nape. 

"For the record, I think you could totally kick my ass, so." Chris’ voice was almost inaudible against the background noise of water dripping down the walls in echoing drops, and the shrill ringing of Leon’s overthinking, and the younger man would not have heard it had he not been so attuned to his partner. He felt Chris’ voice travel from his chest to his throat, its vibrations coalescing into the contact point between Leon’s forehead and Chris’ shoulder. He shuddered. Chris smelled strongly of sweat, and of warm skin, and of _Chris_ , vibrant and summery like orange blossom and seawater. He was glad that this one thing had not been tainted by the scent of blood and death, and burrowed deeper into Chris’ armpit in answer, scent growing deeper, stronger.

"I so would, Redfield. But I won’t, because you’re my partner." Leon’s voice was muffled by his position, but Chris’ soft laugh meant the older man had heard. And there lied all the differences between Chris and Jack ; Chris had a heart, and was not afraid to show emotions, least of all love, to his friends. He knew how to reassure Leon without making him feel incapable. Their only similitudes, in the end, were their ridiculously large shoulders and muscles, and their propensity to fiercely want to protect Leon.

Leon made to push away from Chris, the latter releasing his nape. They looked at each other wordlessly for a moment, taking stock of the other.

"You good?" Chris murmured.

Leon nodded. "Yeah. You?"

Chris scoffed, making Leon’s eyes crinkle in amusement. "Peachy. I just want a shower and seven days of sleep."

He wrinkled his nose, and Leon chuckled as he rose from his sitting position. The seat of his pants was wet from the damp stone, but he was steady on his legs, and knew the end of their mission was coming sooner than later. Chris stood up as well, shouldering his rifle again and turning his torch towards the exit of the tunnel.

"Let’s go then. Chopper should be there any minute now."

They resumed their crossing of the tunnel in silence, footsteps echoing against the rocky walls. They were careful of any foreign noises that might indicate infected people, but they didn’t encounter anyone, and exited quickly onto a village’s central square. They both took deep, steadying breaths of fresh air, sun barely starting to rise between crumbling buildings. The place was empty of people, eerily quiet, but Leon was glad for it. He held his handgun aloft, imitating Chris’ stance while they waited for the extraction team. It arrived quickly with loud rotor noises, a rope ladder dropping from one of the helicopter’s side doors. 

Chris gestured for Leon to climb first, and he followed quickly after. They didn’t wait for the chopper to start rising to make their way up the ladder, and soon reached the blessed floor of the vehicle in heaving pants. Leon hauled himself on one of the seats and buckled himself into the security harness, nodding and shaking his head at appropriate times in answer to the woman currently asking him questions about his physical wellbeing. They never asked much about the mental wellbeing, though. She drew some blood from his arm, the sting of the needle barely noticeable, and left him alone, wedging the blood samples into a container. The hum of the engine was drowned by the regular chopping noises from the rotor, and Leon was soon lulled into a doze. He felt Chris sit next to him and recognized the press of a plastic water bottle against his lower lip. He opened his eyes to see Chris leaning over him, holding a bottle to Leon’s lip.

The younger man snorted and accepted the water, only now realizing how parched his throat felt, how his mouth tasted like sawdust and iron. He gulped half the bottle down, feeling the water slosh around his belly painfully afterwards. He thanked Chris quietly, absentmindedly observing the taller man struggle to buckle his harness around the largest part of his shoulders. 

The rest of the trip was a blur for Leon, who drifted between a light doze and staring at Chris’ right hand, calloused and still wearing a torn fingerless leather glove, scrapes and burns a deep red against the dirty tanned skin. Silvery, older scars stood starkly pale in comparison, begging to be traced. His fingers were thick, almost black with soot and filth. The nails cut short, perhaps bitten down. In contrast, Leon’s hands still sported both his leather gloves, although they did look worse for wear and had deep scratches in the palms. His fingers were surprisingly stubby considering the rest of his body, and he kept his nails trimmed and clean as much as possible. He had a deep repulsion for filth and grime ; his hands had to be clean and sanitized as often as he could. 

He was jolted out of his reverie by the sudden landing of the helicopter, and the motion of Chris’ hands to remove the harness around his torso. Leon mimicked him and stood up, making for the exit unthinkingly, falling into step with Chris. They were probably being escorted to the director’s office for a report, but Leon’s thoughts were scattered. They had the sample they had been asked for ; Krauser had been carrying it. Wasn’t it enough? Couldn’t they just go home? Leon had always disliked the procedural aspects of his job, but today was especially difficult. As a special agent, he was supposed to process trauma and violence like food. But their situation was unprecedented, wasn’t it? When in History had humanity been on the brink of extinction before, threatened by a virus, powerful organizations the decision-makers on the survival of mankind? Were agents, were _humans_ even mentally and physically capable to process the daily bloodsheds, the regular grief?

Feeling himself spiral down again, Leon instinctively grabbed onto Chris’ sleeve, still, _still_ trying to maintain appearances, concealing his desperate, needy gesture under the guise of him tripping on his own feet, covering up his own natural weakness from the prying eyes of other agents. Chris found Leon’s eyes and nodded, not returning physical contact but acknowledging Leon’s fear. They reached the director’s office like this, Leon almost plastered to Chris’ side but keeping face, and Chris determinedly looking antsier by the second. Leon knocked on the door and pushed it open without waiting for an answer, Chris trailing behind him, closing the door after their entrance.

"Why did you tell me Krauser was dead?" Leon immediately let out.

The director looked up from a pile of papers in front of him, surprised —by the question, by the informal tone, by Leon’s unhinged look?— and leaned back into his chair, considering the two men in front of him.

"Because he is," he finally answered.

Leon let out a bitter, loud bark of laughter. "Of course he’s fucking dead now, I _killed_ him. I killed him a few hours ago," —Leon’s eyes felt hot with stinging tears, and he swallowed them back, Jack’s body was probably just barely cold by then— "but _how_? You called me into your office, this office, two years ago, to tell me my partner was dead, that I’d be put on leave for a few weeks." He banged his fist against the desk in front of the portly man, " _Tell me why you lied._ "

He was snarling with anger, rage barely contained behind his teeth, body taut and legs ready to spring, ready to tear that man apart. Chris was a wall of aloofness behind him, arms behind his back, face void of emotion. His stance made it clear that he was not going to stop Leon, in fact, that he was supporting him. Chris had always been a vocal person about unfairness and injustice, but this was for Leon to take care of. 

The director did not move, did not look away from Leon either. "Agent Krauser had betrayed our country and values in his pursuit of power. His injury and removal from our operative teams should not have convinced him to become our enemy."

"And…that was enough reason for you to abandon him? To make everyone believe he was dead?"

"He was as good as dead to us, agent Kennedy. And we simply do not have resources to spare for one stray agent." At this, Leon reeled back, straightened up and stepped away from the desk. The director linked his hands together and bent forward. "Leon, we needed you to move forward. Our goal is to isolate B.O.W.s and prevent acts of terrorism. I did what I did so you could move on quickly and go back to work. You are our best asset for these missions and I need you in top condition. Getting attached to your partners is going to be a weakness in the long term, agent Kennedy."

Leon turned to Chris, who had not said anything nor moved. He looked unsurprised by what the director was saying, as if he’d heard it before, or he was aware of it. The older man gazed into Leon’s eyes. He said _don’t worry, you fool_. He said _you’ll need more than South America to get rid of me_. 

"I am sorry, agent Kennedy, that you had to face agent Krauser and dispose of him yourself, however. I did not expect Wesker to be involved in the Las Plagas project."

"I’ve heard enough, director." Leon’s voice rose. He did not turn back to face the man in the chair, and kept looking at Chris. "You will receive my report in the following days. If that is all, we are leaving."

"I want to speak to agent Redfield," the director interjected.

"Chris?" Leon wished them to leave together, but he wouldn’t force Chris. 

The taller man shifted his gaze to the director. For a moment, he didn’t speak, seemingly engaged in a battle of stares with the man behind.

"Sorry, director. Our best asset said we are leaving. And I do not have anything to say right now that cannot be in the reports. Leon here said everything perfectly clearly."

With that said, Chris turned around and opened the door. Leon bolted from the office, Chris on his tail. The director did not say anything to keep them from leaving, knowing which battles to pick when it mattered. 

"Leon?" Chris pronounced quietly.

"Yeah. I’m fine, Chris. Thank you for that…"

"You don’t have to thank me. I felt like that was Wesker in front of me in that chair. You never knew him when he was in the police, but that bastard was almost worse than Irons sometimes."

Leon chuckled. They reached the elevator that would lead them to the parking lot where Leon had left his bike, and Chris his truck. They stepped into it after a short elevator ride. 

Leon hated this moment. Every mission left him feeling hollow and lonely, and going home alone was always difficult. He didn’t like the idea of one-night stands, so he never took home any of the many women or men that would express an interest or show themselves as available after briefings or training sessions. He didn’t have the energy nor the time to dedicate to learning to know a new person and falling in love with them. He had a few friends, but they were all dealing with their own saving-the-world gigs and traumas. 

Chris was making his way to his truck already, parked next to Leon’s bike. Leon followed him on instinct, stopping in front of his vehicle. Chris turned around with a smile, a _goodbye_ and a _see you around_ on his lips. However, nothing came out. He was gauging Leon, waiting. Waiting.

"Do you…maybe…" Leon hesitated.

"Yes," Chris answered simply.

"Come over? To my flat? We can order food?"

Chris grinned, amused. "I said yes, Leon."

"Oh."

"Let’s take my car. You probably don’t have a second helmet to ride your hell machine."

"You call that monster a _car_? And I do have a second helmet, in my office, but it’s your sister’s."

Chris opened the driver’s door. "Ah, I have a big noggin’, wouldn’t fit in that."

Leon climbed into the passenger’s seat, Chris climbing into his own and closing the door. "Like you’d mind riding without a helmet on."

The engine started with a roar. "I am a strict follower of the law, agent Kennedy. Helmet on when riding death devices."

Leon cackled as they pulled out of the underground parking lot and into the weak spring morning light.

They bickered companionably during the drive over to Leon’s apartment, the latter giving frequent directions to Chris until they reached the outskirts of the city. They arrived at a recent-looking low building bordered by gardens and an orchard. Leon opened the gate remotely and indicated a free parking spot that he usually occupied. 

"Is it okay if I use your shower? I feel kind of grimy," Chris asked while turning off the engine.

"Of course. I can lend you some clothes."

Chris smiled, unbuckling his seatbelt. "I doubt anything of yours will fit me, tiny. I have a bag of spare clothes in the backseat."

Leon sputtered in indignation — _you’re just built like a goddamn tank_ — as he got out of the car, making Chris cackle gleefully. The latter grabbed a duffle bag from the backseat and locked his car before following Leon to the entrance of the building. Leon lived on the top floor, and the elevator ride this time was spent in comfortable silence. They stepped out into a large hallway with one door on the left and one on the right, the whole wall opposite the elevator being a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking a river and part of a vegetable garden.

"There aren’t many tenants or owners in the building, so we all decided to grow our own vegetables and fruit." Leon said, seeing Chris observe their surroundings outside. He typed a code on a padlock and opened the front door, gesturing for Chris to follow him inside. "We take turns every month to take care of the plants, and we usually have enough every week to share between ourselves. The lady on the first floor is allergic to corn though, so she and the neighbor from across the hall trade; her share of corn for his share of carrots, which he really hates."

Chris closed and locked the front door behind him —a habit. Leon had removed his boots and was flitting around the flat, opening windows and letting fresh air into the rooms, rambling about every neighbors habits in the garden with a fond absentmindedness that made Chris smile. The taller man removed his shoes as well and took on the arduous task of removing his various holsters and knife pockets, discarding his damaged gloves in the process. He piled it all on his shoes in the entrance way and padded into the living room ; it was large and airy, with similar large windows as in the corridor outside. The furniture was sparse and minimalistic, the only real touch of personality in the room being a banged up leather couch with several plaid patches sewn in here and there. It looked a thousand years old, and like the most comfortable thing in the world. There was a fuzzy cream-colored blanket neatly folded on one of the armrests, and Chris tried very hard not to imagine a sleep-mussed Leon wrapped in it, cuddled up in one corner of the couch.

Leon emerged from what looked like the bathroom and looked at Chris critically. "You can use the shower, I’ve set out a fresh towel on the rack for you."

Chris snickered at Leon’s upturned nose. "Thanks, man. Do I stink that bad?"

Leon seemed to be surprised by the question. "No, you don’t. I mean, I just would have liked to clean the house a little before I had guests, but I suppose it’ll have to do."

Chris laughed, a booming sound that warmed Leon to his toes. "Dude, I must smell and look like an outdoors slaughterhouse, don’t worry about dust bunnies."

He then made his way to the bathroom, in which a small round window had been propped open. The shower was large and tiled with blue Italian-patterned porcelain. Chris undressed himself, ignoring the various pains and stings the movements and rub of fabric against his sore skin awakened, and stepped into the shower. The pressure from the shower head was pleasantly hard, pounding hot water on Chris’ hair and shoulders, removing dirt and soothing overused muscles. He made quick work of shampooing his short hair, grabbing a bottle from the shelf in the shower cabin without really paying attention. The suds released a refreshing smell of spearmint. Similarly, Leon’s shower gel smelled of menthol, and Chris was soon engulfed in minty smells ; it cleared his foggy thoughts and banished the suggestion of a headache that had started to build up behind his eyes. He stepped out of the shower feeling more refreshed than he would have thought, considering the temperature of the water had been scaldingly hot. 

He found a fluffy white and pastel blue towel on the rack as promised, and it was big enough to wrap around a man twice Chris’ size. He scrubbed his hair to an almost-dry bird’s nest. The breeze getting in the room via the window was balmy and pleasant. The stand mirror next to the shower allowed Chris to take stock of the various bruises and cuts on his body ; nothing was deep or concerning, so he set out on dressing himself from the clothes in his duffel. He always carried spare sweatpants and a clean t-shirt in case he decided to shower at work after training, usually foregoing underwear if it was only to get behind the wheel and go home, or to go bug his little sister when she was in town.

Chris came out of the bathroom to Leon standing in front of the windows in the living room, hip propped against it, looking outside as if lost in thought. When Chris approached, he lifted his gaze to him and took stock of the man. His gaze lingered on Chris’ hair, sticking up in all places, and on his legs, which made him blush.

"I’ve ordered pizzas. I usually order from them after a mission and they’re used to coming here. They should be here quickly."

"I hope you’ve ordered enough to feed a small army. I’m starving," Chris added jokingly.

Leon nodded seriously, "Two for you, two for me. I got all the classics so I figure we can mix and share. And Renato usually gives me some sides, last time it was his own homemade marinated artichokes and some arancini, homemade too. So there should be plenty to go around."

Chris whistled as he sat primly on the edge of the couch. "I was just joking, but you _are_ in fact planning on a state of siege in this room, aren’t you?"

Leon unpeeled himself from the window and laughed, tinkling and airy. "If you’re as hungry as I am, there won’t be many leftovers. Renato’s food is heavenly, anyway. He makes everything himself. You’ll understand when Antonia gets there."

He made his way to the bathroom, grabbing a pile of clothes from the coffee table in front of Chris. "I’m going to shower too. If the doorbell rings you can answer it, I don’t get visitors so it can only be the food. You can get a drink from the fridge if you need, too. Just…make yourself at home."

With that, he left, ears red and eyes downturned, closing the bathroom door with a little more force than necessary. Chris smiled. Leon was seen as cold and ruthless around the office, but those who knew him would only gush about how loveably endearing he was as well. Chris had noticed that during missions as well, when faced with Leon’s endless nagging and sibling-like care, but this was proving to be even more true when Leon was in a familiar environment.

Chris decided to grab a drink from the fridge as Leon had indicated. It was a small kitchen, open on the living room, delimited by the same kind of tiles as in the bathroom, but in ochre and red tones. The fridge was mostly empty, save for half-full containers of cooked pasta and several beers and water bottles. He grabbed a water and cracked it open, downing half the contents before closing it again and making his way back to the living room. Chris noticed that there was no television, but a laptop was closed on top of the coffee table, as well as several books scattered around the room. Leon was a clean person, but there were obviously limits to things being neat ; books seemed to escape his strict rules. He spotted a pile of gardening books in a corner that seemed well-thumbed. There was no dinner table, but many floor cushions were stored underneath the coffee table.

The doorbell’s tune brought Chris back to the present. He glanced in the direction of the bathroom by reflex, and made his way to the door. He unlocked and opened it to see a tiny woman with beautiful olive skin and short dark hair holding a pile of pizza boxes. The smell emanating from them was mouth-watering.

When she saw Chris, the woman’s brow furrowed. "Who are you? Where is my little lion?"

Chris smiled, fighting back laughter. "Your little lion?" This woman was probably in her late forties, and despite her size she looked like she would not take any shit from tall and gangly special agents.

"Yes, my little lion. Mister Léon Kennedy." She pronounced his name with an accent.

"He’s in the shower right now. I was given the mission to get the food in case a certain Antonia arrived while he was still occupied." Chris winked.

At that, the woman’s eyes lit up in mischief. "In the shower, eh?" She thrust the pizza boxes at Chris, who took them from her. "I am Antonia. Nice to meet you, _amante_. Here, take this, I have other things to give you."

Chris didn’t say anything about the nickname, nor the fact that he was pretty sure he knew what it meant. He felt his neck heat up at the suggestion. "I’m Chris. Nice to meet you, Antonia."

The woman hummed under her breath — _should’ve guessed Léon had a guest he never orders so much_ —as she set down a large cooler on the floor between them. "Renato wanted to give these to our little lion." She pulled out several tubs full of food from the bag. "He can freeze this. It is his favorite gnocchi, and Osso Bucco, with the bone marrow."

Chris turned around quickly to set the pizza boxes on the coffee table, and returned to get the tubs from Antonia as she bent again to get more boxes from the cooler.

"I have made cannoli and an almond tart with wine-poached pears, that can go in the fridge."

Chris was at a loss as Antonia finally retrieved a paper bag from the cooler before closing it. "And this is some extras. Renato almost made me late to deliver because he wanted to add more, but I left before he could. I know Léon doesn’t like to be spoiled too much."

_Too much._ What was too much when Chris was overwhelmed with tubs and a bag full of food already?

Antonia settled the cooler bag against her hip, slinging the strap around her shoulders. She considered Chris, laden with food and looking for all the world like he was in front of the latest strand of T-virus, and not a small Italian woman wearing linen trousers and a large, yellow Hawaiian shirt. She smiled and patted his left hand with long, thin fingers.

"You feed this boy, and make him sleep, you understand? Tell him the pears were delicious, and that Renato will not shut up about the butternut squash. _Ciao, amante."_

She turned around and walked briskly to the elevator. Chris quickly set down the tubs and the paper bag on the kitchen counter, and walked back to the front door to wave Antonia goodbye and thank her as the elevator doors closed. She enthusiastically returned the wave with a smile that made a few lines appear at the corner of her eyes. Chris locked the door again and returned to the kitchen where an alarming amount of food was waiting to be stored away, or devoured. The encounter with Antonia had lasted five minutes at best, but it had been so energetic, Antonia’s speech fast-paced and mischievous, that the man felt like he’d missed half of it all.

"I heard the front door close, was Antonia there?"

Leon’s voice had Chris look up from his bewildered staring at the food in the kitchen. Leon was frozen in the living room, damp towel in one hand scrubbing at his hair, dressed in soft looking black yoga pants and a large white t-shirt. He looked between the tubs and Chris once, twice, and started to giggle uncontrollably.

"Stop laughing, you should have warned me she would bring two months’ worth of food. I was expecting four pizza boxes!"

Leon didn’t stop laughing, but he turned around and went back to the bathroom to throw his used towel in the hamper. He returned to the kitchen to see Chris with his back to him —and oh, what a view— putting away some of the tubs pulling a water bottle from the fridge. He then bent over to put the rest of the tubs in the freezer, and Leon needed to start speaking before he did something instead.

"She usually does that. I order a pizza with the sides _du jour_ and she brings me leftovers. Or, well, it was leftovers in the beginning, when she found out I lived alone. Then one day Renato came to deliver instead of Antonia, and I guess he really liked me because he started cooking especially for me, and asking for my opinion. They’re very sweet, caring people."

Chris brought the paper bag over to the coffee table along with the bottled water, and settled on the couch. There were too many boxes to fit next to each other on the table, so Leon grabbed a stool and a tray from the kitchen for a makeshift table. They laid out the food before them, Leon sitting next to Chris on the couch, although he made sure to keep a socially acceptable distance between their legs.

"I’m glad some people make you care for yourself, and care for you outside of work. Antonia seemed like a nice woman, under the terrifying faces she made at me."

Leon groaned. "Did she say anything weird?"

Chris chuckled. "No, little lion, she didn’t."

The gasp of outrage that the nickname pulled from Leon sent Chris into a laughing fit. He dodged several attempts from the smaller man to kick him in the shins, and settled himself by opening the paper bag.

"Wow, look at all of this!"

Chris pulled out two containers out of the bag, one full of thinly sliced cured hams and various dry sausages, and another full of multiple cheeses.

"They don’t joke around with the antipasti." Chris was salivating.

"Let me plate this a little more neatly." Leon rose and disappeared in the kitchen for a few seconds, bringing back a large plate, the contents of the containers arranged simply on it.

"Ok, let’s dig in."

They chatted idly while they ate, frequently interrupted by moans of contentment ; the food was exquisite, and after three long days spent with only two granola bars to feed themselves, the taste was almost indecent. Halfway through his first pizza, Leon pulled out a remote control from a drawer in the coffee table and turned on his stereo, playing a jazz playlist as background music. Chris spoke about his sister, sharing tales of her teenage exploits, and Leon regaled him with a full account of Claire’s fight with a sexist bartender on their last night out together. 

"Let’s speak about you though, what do you do outside of work? Except for charming Italian couples and corrupting my sister?"

Chris had eaten two pizzas and half the antipasti plate by then, and was slumped into the couch, a hand on his belly, looking contented and soft. Leon, who had devoured his share of the pizzas as well, was just munching on the last slices of ham left on the plate. He giggled, feeling full and loose, and comfortable enough to let the last of his walls come down.

"Your sister doesn’t need me to be corrupt."

"Don’t dodge the question!" Chris swatted weakly at Leon, who retaliated by throwing his legs across Chris’ lap and pressing down. The taller man didn’t object and merely circled one of Leon’sankles with his free hand, his palm warm and his rough fingers lighting up Leon’s nerve endings. Goosebumps rose on his legs, and he coughed to hide his reaction.

"I garden, and I read, mostly. I’m not a very interesting person, I’m afraid."

The hand on Leon’s ankle tightened, and this time Leon couldn’t help but jump in reaction. Chris turned his eyes lazily to him.

"Don’t say that. You have plenty to say, and you’re clever and quick-witted."

Leon felt his cheek heat up. "Right. I’ll, uh, clean this up," he stuttered, moving towards the mess on the table.

"I’ll take care of it," Chris spoke, getting up, dislodging Leon’s legs from their perch.

"But…"

"Do not object, you paid for this food and you are welcoming me in your home. I can at least clean up," the older man insisted, his back to Leon. 

The latter was anxious that he had said something wrong, but kept quiet. Chris made quick work discarding the cardboard boxes and cleaning the sole plate they used, putting it on the drying rack afterwards. Leon heard him wash his hands, before he returned to the couch with two cold opened beers from the fridge. He set one of Leon’s side of the table and took a big gulp out of his after sitting back down next to Leon, to his right, closer than before. He then made a show of grabbing Leon’s ankle again, tugging until the smaller man relented, laying his long legs back on Chris’ lap.

"This is better, isn’t it?" the latter sighed, leaning his head backwards until it rested on the back of the couch, then turning it until he met Leon’s eyes.

The younger man had no idea what Chris meant. He could only focus on the contact point between their skins, and how it made him crave more. He had never liked physical contact, or physical tenderness, but found that this small taste of intimacy with Chris, his partner of two years now, was whetting his appetite, if there was such a thing left in him after their feast.

He hummed vaguely in answer, sitting up from his sprawled position, bringing him a hairbreadth away from plastering himself to Chris’ flank. The brunette’s eyes never Leon’s face, and never betrayed any kind of discomfort. Leon was avoiding his gaze, instead staring at the bulge of the man’s pectoral muscles under his t-shirt.

"What do you need, Leon?" Chris broke the silence between them, startling Leon into meeting his eyes again. The soft notes of jazz still coming from his stereo were lulling him into a deep sense of complete surrender.

"I…" Leon started, unsure. "When we were in that tunnel, last night, you…" he swallowed, took a gulp of beer. "You touched me."

He’d said it, the fire in his cheeks burning bright enough to prompt him into bowing his head until his eyes were shielded behind his hair.

Chris’ hand didn’t move from his ankle, but he heard him set his own bottle down on the table. He then set his condensation-damp hand on Leon’s nape, making the smaller man gasp.

"I did."

A slight tremor ran up Leon’s spine. He recognized it as anticipation, the bottomless dread of the unknown and the excitement of expectations currently seizing his breath. More, more.

Leon nudged Chris’s wrist with his nose, asking for caresses. The older man chuckled softly, curling the short hairs within reach around his fingers. Leon threw a shaking hand forward, catching Chris’ right shoulder. He dipped his head forward and into Chris’ left armpit, somewhat of a mirror of their position in the tunnel. He burrowed as far as he could into Chris’ underarm, making the older man shiver, tickled by Leon’s breath against his sensitive skin. They settled like this, Leon engulfed by Chris’ reassuring scent —the slight tang of sweat behind the remnants of mint from the shower gel, and still this undertone of seawater—, the latter stroking the blonde’s head and slowly slipping his right hand up his calf, under his trousers, massaging the muscle slightly.

Chris’ heart was beating steadily, if a little fast, into Leon’s ear. He inhaled deeply, feeling himself loosen up more and more by the second. He felt empty of thoughts, and his worries and aches seemed too far away to be worth considering. The soothing piano tune dancing around the room grounded them into reality ; the notes bouncing around reminding them of where they were, and of their own corporeality. They were sinking into each other, the borders between them blurring as the gaping maw of their mutual yearning finally bit down and sank its fangs into the substantiality of their touches. 

**Author's Note:**

> i'll be honest with you guys, this was almost an E rated fic. i'd actually started to write more after that, and things were getting...steamy. i wasn't sure about my skills in writing smut and if it would actually work within the story, so i cut it off. but if you guys are interested in a follow up of this fic, let me know!!   
> i've also thought of turning this into a series where chris and leon explore their relationship and work out some kinks together... that's another option.
> 
> thank you so much for reading!! don't hesitate to leave a comment, i'll be glad to read them!!


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